


I Dreamed a Dream

by fancyh



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 18:53:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15467799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancyh/pseuds/fancyh





	I Dreamed a Dream

_I dreamed a dream in time gone by_

_When hope was high and life worth living_

_I dreamed that love would never die_

_I dreamed that God would be forgiving_

 

He is nineteen. He walks through the golden city, drinking in the sights with childlike wonder that still hasn't faded; youth still written in the soft planes of his face and the broad grin that stretches his mouth, blue eyes sparkling like a brook in summer. There is something intangible in the air, an undercurrent of electricity not dimmed by the somber sight of an execution, looked down upon by sharp green eyes in a pale face, dark hair spilling around slim shoulders; a mirror above to the form below. They have not met, and yet already, fate twists between them, bringing them inexorably closer. Two stars, on a collision course.

Below, close and yet far away from the death, as yet untouched by it, the sun glints off polished metal and sets golden hair alight, blue eyes sparkling with a similar untouched youth. Fate coils around him, whispering. A target rolls, drawn as if by some force towards its small part to play, everything moving like clockwork, the curtains drawn and actors on the stage. A voice calls out, and the golden prince turns inevitably, inexorably towards its source, drawn by the same force, the same hand of fate.

"Hey. Come on, that's enough."

Blue eyes meet, lock. 

"What?"

"You've had your fun, my friend." 

"Do I know you?" 

 _Yes,_ something whispers, twining around the two souls that have been bound for an eternity. They are but two halves of the same whole. To be known is to know themselves.

(It is said that to love is to be known. And oh, God, how they loved each other.)

~

He is twenty. He holds Morgana as she gasps for breath, feeling tears prick his eyes. 

 _I'm sorry,_ he thinks. 

It is not enough. He knows, even as the life fades from her body, that his soul is damned.

~

He is twenty-nine. He holds Morgana as she dies, letting her slide to the ground. She stares back at him, eyes unseeing, pale and beautiful in death. He feels nothing but a faint pity. 

"Goodbye, Morgana," he says.

Thunder rumbles. He turns towards Arthur, always towards Arthur, leaving Morgana on the ground. She was his first victim, and his last. 

  

_Then I was young and unafraid_

_And dreams were made and used and wasted_

_There was no ransom to be paid_

_No song unsung, no wine untasted  
_

 

He is nineteen. He watches in wonder as the sword gleams, humming with otherworldly power. It is beautiful, he thinks. He thinks nothing of the death the sword could bring, the blood that will surely fall on its blade. He holds it in his hand, the grip warm in his palm, and smiles with the last remnants of childlike innocence, of wonder and hope not tarnished by blood and death and fear. 

~

He is twenty. He hurls the sword into the lake, watching it sink into the water. He turns away, steps still light as he returns to the castle, to Arthur.

~

He is twenty-six. He watches as Arthur pulls the sword from the stone, golden hair gleaming in the sunlight and making him seem otherworldly. Something hangs in the air, heavy, magic and fate and destiny all intertwined as the people cheer, the future he'd dreamed of so close before his eyes.

(So close. And yet, never close enough)

~

He is twenty-nine. He watches as the sword gleams in the sunlight, humming softly, still stained with Morgana's blood. The grip is cold in his palm, still bearing the imprints of Arthur's hand. He hurls it into the lake, watching as a slim hand rises up to catch it before sinking beneath the gentle waves, out of sight. 

_But the tigers come at night_

_With their voices soft as thunder_

_As they tear your hope apart_

_As they turn your dreams to shame_

 

He is nineteen. He watches Arthur ride away with Mordred, wondering if he'd made the right decision. His heart tells him yes. He is still innocent, a child himself. To kill a child for doing nothing is unthinkable. Still, something tugs at him as they ride away, a voice whispering in his ear.  _What if?_

They have time, he tells himself.

(It is never enough time)

~

He is twenty-eight. He watches in the pool as Arthur falls to his knees, Mordred standing before him.

_I thought we had more time._

~

He is twenty-nine. He stands in Arthur's room, praying for more time, watching as the circle of fate closes around them.

"You're breaking his heart," he says.  _You're breaking mine,_ he can't say.

~

He is twenty-nine. He walks through the battlefield, stepping over the bodies of fallen men. It does not bother him anymore, the death. He is no longer a child. He sees Arthur and the world stops as he stumbles forwards, heart beating wildly in his chest.  _No,_ he thinks.  _Please._

But hope is for fools, he's learned this long ago. So are dreams. He knows, as he crouches by Arthur's side, hands frantically searching for a pulse, that he has failed. 

 

_He slept a summer by my side_

_He filled my days with endless wonder_

_He took my childhood in his stride_

_But he was gone when autumn came_

 

 

He is nineteen. He sits huddled in the blanket, still weak and shaky from the poison. Arthur turns to leave, as if wondering why he'd come in the first place. They both know something has happened, a bond forged between them. Something has changed.

"Arthur."

Arthur stops, drawn by that same inexorable force. 

"Thank you."

Arthur nods, something soft on his face. They are both still children, both of them, but it is fast slipping away.

"You too," he says.

~

He is twenty-one, and burdened with fresh grief, no longer a stranger to the harsh ways of the world. Arthur sets a hand on his shoulder, looking into his eyes.

"No man is worth your tears."

He covers up the flash of grief with a laugh, pulling away from the searing heat of Arthur's hand.

"You're certainly not."

It's a lie. But then, what's one more?

~

He is twenty-five and staring into Arthur's eyes, trying to convey everything he feels without speaking.

"And I believe in you. I always have."  _I love you,_ he does not say. He thinks Arthur hears it anyway.

~

He is twenty-nine and Arthur is looking at him with that soft, open gaze, as if he is more precious than all the stars in the sky. 

 _I'm not,_ he wants to say.  _I'm nothing without you._ He is a monster, he knows that much. Childhood innocence has fled, leaving coldness behind. All for Arthur, all of it. Every betrayal, every lie, every life taken, every time he has warped and twisted his own soul to keep Arthur alive. He should hate him, he thinks. It is Arthur who has turned him into this, a creature of pain and fear and darkness. He doesn't. 

(A half cannot hate that which makes it whole)

He loves him. Gods does he love him. He would burn the world down to keep Arthur safe. 

~

He is twenty-nine and his legs collapse under him, Arthur's weight bearing them down to the ground. Arthur's hand finds his and pats gently, reassuring. As if he is not the one dying. 

"Just hold me. Please."

The air is cold and crisp, their breaths not yet fogging in the air. Arthur's body is cold against his, growing colder. His soul grows cold as well. Arthur turns his head to look at him, that same soft, open gaze that pierces his soul.

"I know now," he says, but hasn't he always? Arthur has always known him, as he has always known Arthur.

"Thank you," Arthur says.  _I love you,_ he does not say. Merlin hears it anyway.

 

_And still I dream he'll come to me_

_That we will live the years together_

_But there are dreams that cannot be_

_And there are storms we cannot weather_

 

He is over a thousand years old. He walks down the road, pausing by the lake as something tugs at him, an age-old grief. He does not look, does not dare to hope. Hope is for fools. He has learned that long ago.

There's a flash, laughter and sunlight glinting off golden hair, bright blue eyes meeting his own. There was a boy, he thinks, and his name was hope. No, his name was  _Arthur._ The memories feel more like a dream. Maybe that is all they are. A beautiful dream.

But dreams cannot last. 

 

_I had a dream my life would be_

_So different from this hell I'm living_

_So different now from what it seemed_

 

He is twenty-five. He watches with pride as Arthur crowns Guinevere, both of them beautiful and resplendent. He can see the future before his eyes, the golden kingdom they will build; a place of peace and prosperity where magic is free and everyone is treated equally. It calls to him, a siren-song that makes everything he has done to get here worth it. He believes in his destiny, in his and Arthur's destiny together. It's beautiful, he thinks.

~

He is twenty-nine. He watches with grief as the boat drifts away, carrying all his hopes and dreams with it. There is no future, now. No happy ending. He no longer believes in destiny. 

 _Where did I go wrong?_ he thinks. It had been so close, that gleaming future. Is this really their destiny, what he has strived for all those years? Pain, and death, and bloodshed. That is their legacy. 

He has failed. He knows this now.

 

_Now, life has killed the dream I dreamed_

 

He is twenty-nine. He holds Arthur in his arms, watching the life fade from bright blue eyes, no sunlight to caress the golden hair that is soft under Merlin's hand as he clutches Arthur's face, heart breaking. The man he loves is dying, and he is holding him. 

 _This can't happen,_ he thinks.  _This isn't how it's supposed to happen._

But it is, this was always how it ended (no, not ended, never ended) and the fates weep alongside him, wrapping him in their embrace.

 


End file.
